


Or You'll Bite Your Tongue

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Captain John Watson, M/M, Military Kink, Military-ish kink, bottom!Greg, top!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes into captain mode when a soldier is injured. Greg goes gaga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or You'll Bite Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



The man, well, boy, was bleeding quite a lot. From the head, none the less. Bleeding and shaking.

"Daniel," Lestrade said firmly, "Daniel, stay with me. The medics are on the way."

"He s-shot me," came Daniel's voice, soft and confused, "why would he do that?"

"Daniel, look at me, can you do that, son?" Lestrade tried again.

The boy's eyes fluttered and Lestrade gripped his arm just as he started to slip down the wall. He was honestly frightened he might lose him before the medics got there. A gust of wind denoted the opening of the door and a sodden Sherlock and grim John walked in. Lestrade locked eyes with John and nodded towards the boy.

John was over in seconds, pressing against the wound and talking to the boy in a voice neither Greg nor Sherlock were used to.

"When were you discharged, son?" John asked, motioning with his other hand for Sherlock to pass over his scarf.

"November, sir," the boy replied, keenly aware, and not the only one, that he was speaking to a higher ranking officer.

"What did you do the second you got home?" John asked, pressing with the scarf to the boy's head and tossing the blood soaked shirt to the floor.

"I saw my mum, sir," the boy said, a bit more lucidly.

"And what was her response to seeing you there, alive and home for good?" John asked, helping the boy to slip down the wall and sit Indian style on the cold floor.

"She cried, sir," the boy replied, finally looking John in the eyes.

"If you die right now she'll cry again," John said firmly, "and we don't want that, do we, soldier?"

"No, sir," the boy said.

"Sherlock, come," John barked.

Sherlock was on his knees next to them in seconds and pressed where John told him to, watching the doctor's face carefully and keeping his mouth admirably shut.

"Lestrade," John asked, "how far out are they?"

The answer came in the form of sirens and the sound of feet drawing closer. Lestrade stood back as John shouted orders to the medics and assisted them in getting the boy ready for transport. 

"Daniel," John said just as they were about to close the doors.

"I will, sir," the boy said with a stiff salute.

John stood back and mirrored the gesture and the ambulance took them away.

The second they were gone John turned to Lestrade and cleared his throat, "he'll be fine."

"Yeah," Lestrade replied, voice tight and tongue thick, "thanks to you."

John nodded shortly before looking down at his hands and turning them over, "somewhere I can get cleaned up?" 

"'Fraid not," Lestrade replied, "but I'm going back to the station. I could give you a ride."

John took a step backwards and let his eyes drag over Greg slowly. Whatever he saw had him agreeing and telling Sherlock to head home for the night. 

"Lead the way," he said.

Lestrade swallowed thickly and John followed him to the squad car, getting into the passenger side and buckling himself in.

"Thank you for your help back there," Greg said as they pulled out into traffic.

"Sometimes we just need the right motivation," John replied.

"Yeah, suppose so," Greg said, eyes carefully on the road as much as they wanted to be elsewhere, "what did you do, erm, when you got home?"

"I was in hospital," John replied quickly.

"Oh, of course," Lestrade said softly.

"When I was able to leave there I went and got smashed," John said, looking out the window, "wasn't the best idea, on pain mess and all, but there it was."

"Mmm," Greg replied weakly.

"My mum's dead. She passed before I was deployed the first time," John added.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Lestrade said just as they pulled up to the back of the Met.

"Let's get cleaned up," John said, stepping out and not looking back.

Greg followed him into the downstairs men's and stood at the sink next to him for a minute after they'd both removed their jackets just watching John's hands moving briskly together. Once they were rinsed clean John dried them on his pant legs and rolled his sleeves up. He nodded for Greg to take his place and stepped up behind the detective inspector.

"Turn the water on, Greg," he said firmly.

Greg did just that and held his hands beneath the spray as John pumped some of the antibacterial soap into his palm and then started to scrub his right hand roughly. He let his eyes flit closed and focussed on the feel of John's breath against his shoulder. It was warm, like the water, and heavenly.

"Rinse," John murmured.

Greg let out a small sigh and did so as John started on his left hand.

"You did well today, Greg. Kept the boy safe until I got there," John said as he pressed closer.

"Thank you, sir," Greg whispered.

"You were very brave," John added, "rinse."

Greg swallowed and rinsed his hand, trying not to whimper as John moved his hands so they were gripping the edge of the sink and rolled his hips.

"So brave," John murmured as he gripped Greg's hip with his right hand and reached the other around to palm his erection.

"John," Greg whined.

"You'll call me sir or you'll bite your tongue," John growled.

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," Greg whispered.

"That's better. Mmm. Much better," John said as he circled his hips, cock dragging over Greg's cleft through too many layers of clothes, "hold onto the sink while I go lock the door."

Greg nodded and let his eyes fall closed as John pulled away, listening to his footsteps and then the soft click of the lock. In a few seconds John was against his back again and reaching around to undo his belt.

"We've still got blood on the sleeves of our shirts so it's hands off this time but I promise it'll be good," John said as he tugged down the zip and pushed Greg's trousers and pants down to his ankles.

"Yes, sir," Greg whispered, a whisper that turned into a moan when he felt John's naked thighs against the backs of his legs and his cock pressing between them.

"Press your legs together, son," John murmured, hands back on Greg's hips.

"Oh," Greg sighed as he made a tight channel for John's cock.

"Next time I have you it'll be on your desk," John said as he started to thrust his hips, a move that caused the head of his prick to rub ruthlessly against Greg's bollocks, "you'd like that, wouldn't you, lad?"

"Yessir," Greg panted, bending over further and hanging his head between his arms.

"Mmm, good boy," John praised, breath humid through Greg's button-down.

"Thank you, sir," Greg whimpered as John sped up his thrusts and then drew back to spit luridly on his own prick.

"How long have you thought about doing this?" John asked as he buried himself over and over again between Greg's thighs.

"Since the hound, sir. Since I saw you with a gun in your hands," Greg replied honestly.

"Mmm. Because you need someone like me, don't you? Someone in control," John supplied.

"Yessir," Greg choked out.

John pulled back and rested his head against the warm, damp spot between Greg's shoulder blades before pumping his hips again and starting to curse. The rough words coming from John's lips made Greg wish he could fist his cock.

"Don't you dare touch it," John growled, "I'll let you finish in my mouth if you're a good lad for me."

Greg moaned and clenched his thighs.

"I'm close, oh, hell, I'm so close," John mumbled as his movements became erratic.

"Please, sir, please come for me," Greg begged.

"Yes, fuck, yes," John panted as his hips stilled, fingers dug painfully into Greg's sides, and he emptied himself into the air.

Greg was breathing roughly and trying hard not to come himself, the prospect of seeing John sucking him too much to pass up. He made a gruff sound in the back of his throat as John pulled away and situated himself, refusing to open his eyes just yet.

"Come on then, give it to me," John said after a beat.

Greg turned around and felt his knees nearly buckle at the sight before him. John was on his knees with his hands behind his back, mouth open and waiting. He bit his tongue and stepped forward until the head of his prick pressed between John's lips.

"Oh, oh, God, oh," he murmured as John took more of his cock into that perfect, wet heat.

John bobbed his head quickly and reached up to grip Greg's hips and the detective inspector tipped over the edge and started to come. John sucked harder and flicked his tongue and Greg's vision went white. When he finally came to John was standing before him doing up his belt. He cleared his throat and tucked his shirt in quickly.

"Did you mean what you said," he asked, "about there being a next time?"

John nodded once and rolled his sleeves down.

"Good, that's...good," Greg replied absently.

John took a step forward and ran his thumb across Greg's cheek before pulling him down into an enthusiastic kiss. Greg melted as John tugged him closer by the hips. He was breathless when the doctor finally drew away.

"Better get home. God knows what Sherlock's up to," John said, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"John," Greg tried.

"Would you like, to, I don't know, get a drink sometime?" John asked, not looking up.

"Yeah...yes. Yes, sir," Greg replied.

John smiled softly and nodded before walking out of the loo and leaving Greg to lean against the wall and close his eyes.


End file.
